


Lunchdate

by scheherazade



Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: But what’s a guy supposed to say, when someone texts you a thing like: Hey how’s it going? I’ve been thinking, do you want to get lunch tomorrow?





	

He’s been staring at the text for twenty minutes now, too afraid to even start typing a response because with his luck he’ll start typing something inane and then accidentally hit send on an incomplete text when the cat decides to jump on his arm in a spontaneous display of affection. Or maybe murderous intent. Unclear.

Cats are more trouble than they’re worth. Or would be, if they weren’t so cute.

But what’s a guy supposed to say, when someone texts you a thing like: _Hey how’s it going? I’ve been thinking, do you want to get lunch tomorrow?_

Normal people would probably just write back “Sure! I’ve got a thing at 11 but I’ll be done by 1:30. Where do you want to meet?”

Aiba Hiroki has long since accepted that he is not normal people. Normal people, in his position, under these circumstances, lead vaguely scandalous lives (see: Nakagauchi Masataka) and have not-so-secret significant others (see: literally everyone but him).

Meanwhile, he has a cat. Two cats. Because one cat gets lonely, all by itself in a Tokyo apartment.

Which is not a metaphor. He’s just got this text that’s burning a metaphorical hole in his phone. Or possibly a literal hole. The case is starting to feel pretty hot. Though that could also be because he’s been gripping the damn phone for nearly half an hour, trying to think of a reply.

The blinking cursor — indicating where the witty and/or possibly flirtatious response should go — is mocking him.

Aiba pulls up a different text thread and writes: _He asked me to lunch and I’m probably gonna say yes. Talk me out of this._

Masa’s response is instantaneous:

 _Who asked u to lunch?_  
_Is he hot_  
_And if so why would I talk u out of it lol_

The cat noses at his sock. Aiba shifts over on his couch to make room, and texts back: _Keichan. And shut up, I don’t know why I asked you. You’re clearly a bad influence._

 _I’M THE BEST INFLUENCE_ , Masa retorts. _Dude!!! I can’t believe he finally asked u out!!!!_

Aiba chews on his lip. _It’s just lunch._

He doesn’t know why he expected Masa to reply with anything other than:

 _Lunchdate!??_  
_Lunchdate!!_  
_DEFINITELY A DATE_

And yeah, even Aiba wouldn’t have believed himself, considering. Yet he keeps trying.

 _Don’t you dare tell anyone_ , he writes. _I’m serious._

 _Yeah yeah no need to go all kachi ni shuuchaku suru on me Aibacchi_  
_This means ur saying yes right???_  
_I expect deets when u get back_  
_Whenever u get back from ~lunch~_

It’s so typically obnoxious and so typically Masa. Probably what he needed, Aiba thinks, half-grinning, half-biting-so-hard-on-his-lip-he-can-taste-blood.

He writes back, _It means I hate you. A lot. Do not tell anyone. This conversation never happened._

The cat crawls into his lap, and makes a disgruntled noise when Aiba props his arms on her back to — carefully — type a response to Keisuke:

_Hey, how’ve you been? :) Lunch sounds great. Where/when do you want to meet?_

The cat slips away with such grace that it doesn’t even cause him to make a typo. He hits send all on his own.

“Thanks for nothing,” he tells the cat, who just gives him a disapproving look.  


  


* * *

 

Aiba gets to the train station ten minutes early. He'd thought about arriving a little late — not fashionably late, just casually late — but it might be construed as chickening out. Of lunch. He is not chickening out. It’s just lunch. Therefore, he is early.

Keisuke is already there.

And now it’s too late to chicken out, because Keisuke waves at him — never mind that there’s approximately five bajillion people around and he’s not so much worried about this ending up on a fan site as he is about a mutual acquaintance finding out and telling, well, _everyone_ —

“Hey,” says Keisuke. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” Aiba says, before his brain has a chance to process that maybe that’s not the most polite thing to say.

Keisuke doesn’t seem to mind. Just grins. “Yeah, well.”

Aiba isn't really sure what to make of it. He’s also not sure what to make of the leather jacket, or the sunglasses; Keisuke had taken them off when he walked over, and now he tucks them over the collar of his shirt, the sunglasses dragging down on the v-neck tee, and — Aiba is going to stop staring now.

“How’s rehearsal going?” Keisuke asks. “All set for opening night?"

“Yeah, I think it’s gonna be a good show.” Aiba blinks. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I’m psychic.” Keisuke jokes. Except he can’t keep a straight face even for that. “Kidding. No, I heard from people who heard from people who know other people. You know how it is.”

“So, basically…Masa?"

“Uehara Takuya, actually."

“How do you know Takkun?"

"Or maybe I was stalking your Twitter."

Aiba isn’t sure what expression crossed his face just then, but it makes Keisuke laugh. Keisuke has a stupid laugh, which is the only reason Aiba finds himself smiling as well. He looks away to disguise it, and also to take stock of their surroundings.

“So. Where are we going for lunch?”

“Wherever you want,” Keisuke says easily, falling into step beside him.

Aiba eyes him. “You’re agreeable today.”

“I’m always agreeable,” Keisuke says. “And also exceedingly modest and easygoing. You, on the other hand—“

“What about me?”

“You’re very hard to get a hold of.”

“Am not!”

“Uh, when’s the last time I saw you? Like, summer?"

"You make me sound like some kind of hermit."

Keisuke makes a humming sound. “In your defense, it’s not that long of a time in Fuji-years."

Aiba gives him a bemused look. “What’s a Fuji-year?”

“Four normal years. Because he’s born on February 29th, right?” Keisuke pauses, as the explanation goes over like a lead balloon. “That was supposed to be a joke."

“Ah, sorry,” Aiba deadpans. "I missed my cue to laugh. Can we redo that take?”

Keisuke elbows him. Aiba grins to himself; awkward, chagrined Minami Keisuke is something he’s more used to.

“Be honest. How long did you rehearse that joke?” Aiba asks him.

“Hey, that was completely spontaneous.”

“Really? I can see why you don’t do improv.”

“You’re on a roll today.”

“I’m available all week, folks. Tip your waitress, try the fish.”

Keisuke really does have a stupid laugh, Aiba thinks, listening to the sound.

“So,” Keisuke says, “where did you want to go for lunch?”

Aiba looks up at the sky; the clouds from earlier are clearing up, the sun more or less visible beyond the skyline. “Let’s get something to go and eat in the park. It’s nice out.”

Keisuke looks startled. “Isn’t it supposed to rain later?”

“Hey, you said whatever I want.” A part of Aiba’s brain points out that’s not exactly what he said — but oh well. He grabs Keisuke’s arm and makes a beeline for the nearest food truck. “I’m very hard to get a hold of, remember? Enjoy the privilege of my company while it lasts, Minami."

Keisuke makes a sound that might be a laugh, or possibly something more strangled. “I’ll be sure to keep that mind."

 

* * *

 

They end up back at the train station, Keisuke carrying the half-eaten box of gyoza, and Aiba holding Keisuke’s sodden leather jacket — in his defense, Keisuke had offered it to him when the heavens opened up right in the middle of their picnic.

Aiba feels a little guilty about that. He’d feel guiltier, probably, if he didn’t keep getting distracted because _wow_ white t-shirts really are exceedingly transparent when they’re wet. Especially over biceps.

Keisuke plucks absently at his shirt; the fabric peels away for a second, then molds back over his skin.

Aiba practically throws the jacket at him. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Keisuke looks at the jacket in one hand, and the gyoza in the other. “Uh.”

“Oh. Right.” Aiba takes the box while Keisuke puts his jacket back on — then promptly shrugs it off again. The motion makes every ripple of muscle very, very visible and yeup, Aiba is going to die of mortification. Right here. In a train station. Holding a box of gyoza.

Keisuke makes a face. “So, a leather jacket feels really gross over a wet shirt. In case you’re ever wondering. You’d think that’d be obvious, but.”

“We should probably get you out of that,” Aiba says, then clams up as soon as he realizes how that sounded.

Keisuke doesn’t seem to notice, folding his jacket carefully over his arm. “Yeah, probably." He runs a hand through his hair, which is sticking up weirdly thanks to the rain. Doesn’t seem to have dampened his good mood, though. “So,” he says, “you want to get some dessert instead?"

“Huh? Oh.” Aiba glances down at the box of gyoza he’s still holding, then looks back up at — not at the wet t-shirt, which. He really needs to do something about that. “How about we find you a change of clothes first?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. How do you feel about coffee?”

“My feelings are that I have coffee at home, and you’re going to catch pneumonia.”

“I don’t think you can catch pneumonia from the rain.”

“You willing to stake your life on that?”

Keisuke seems amused by the serious tone of his voice. “Fair enough.”

“Good,” Aiba says, and huh his voice sounds a lot surer than he feels. Actor’s instinct. Probably. “My place, then?”

There’s a long pause — which is probably not that long, except Keisuke’s looking at him like _he’s_ the one wearing a transparent shirt. Or possibly skin. Which doesn’t even make sense, but.

“Okay,” Keisuke says. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Aiba wrenches his eyes away and speed walks toward the platform. “You can meet my cats."


End file.
